


Lambs of John

by qthelights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Episode: s05e18 Point of No Return, First Time, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Castiel loses faith in Dean, then his sacrifice will be for nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lambs of John

_Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that his hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end. John 13:1._

 

They didn't have the time. There weren't seconds, let alone languid minutes, but Dean couldn't take no for an answer. Just grabbed Cas's hand and gripped tight enough to brook no argument, tugged hard on his arm until he felt the opposition give way.

"Come with me," he demanded and didn't wait for an answer, just turned and pulled Cas after him, leaving Sam shrugging his shoulders in an annoyed 'what the hell, man?' gesture to the sky. 

"Dean. We do not have..." Cas started.

"No, Cas," he replied. "We do."

And Cas fell silent, allowed Dean to pull him around the side of the factory like he was willingly obeying him. Like he hadn't just told Dean that he didn't have faith in him. Like he hadn't just said he was going to kill himself rather than see Dean fail.

But Dean always failed. He failed his dad, he failed Sam, he failed his mom. Angels, girlfriends, Bobby, God. Hell, he'd even failed Alistair when it came right down to it. He was used to it - screwing it all up and paying the price, watching others pay for him and knowing he'd have to live with that added burden around his neck. This was just another frayed knot in the rope.

He could tell Bobby he was not his father, because he _wasn't_. Could accuse him of not understanding, because he didn't, couldn't possibly.

He could tell Sam he didn't trust him, because he couldn't, _wouldn't_ since that night not so long ago when Sam left him broken and bleeding on a motel floor. When Sam walked out on everything Dean had given him. He wouldn't make that mistake again; wouldn't open, wouldn't trust, wouldn't love.

He had no faith in anyone. There was none left in himself to give. 

He was going to fail, and despite it all, despite his self-loathing and his inadequacy, it had still taken him all this fucking time to give in - he'd squandered it being selfish, wanting to find a way to win, to have his cake and... 

So in the end even his failure in saying yes was simply a failure to say it sooner.

And he'd wear that too.

Because it's what he did.

So he could tell Bobby he wasn't his dad, tell Sam he knew he'd betray him and tell Cas to blow him. He'd expected Bobby's anger, Sam's pain. Cas's fists. And he prayed that they would take his poisoned words as the apology that they were intended as. After. When. Even if they didn't, they'd understand he saved the world. 

For that reason he had not apologised to Bobby, or tried to soothe Sam's pain. He had let Cas hurt him as he'd needed and felt no need to seek retribution or apology.

But Cas saying he had no faith in Dean, not in anger or passion, but in abject resignation? After all that? After he thought they were done playing their roles and saying goodbyes in the only fucked up way that they knew how? That stung. Because _fuck_ , he was finally doing what Cas had brought him out of the pit to fucking do. Cas may have lost his faith in God, but _christ_ , Dean was trying to fix the mess their Father Who Art Not had let happen in his backyard. 

He was trying to save the whole damn world with a monosyllabic word.

And instead of accepting Dean's apology, instead of getting pissed and punchy and moving on so they could all do their damn jobs, Cas didn't even fucking _care_? Wanted nothing more than to give the fuck up?

That meant it was all for nothing; apology not accepted, sacrifice thwarted, another failure stacked up against so many more. And that was one too many, one he could not shoulder. So he'd grabbed Cas by the hand, left Sam standing in front of a room full of angels, and stalked around the building.

Why Cas allowed it, he didn't know, and he didn't care. He just held on tight and led him out of earshot. Pushed him up against the tin-cladding of a nearby building with his hands splayed out on Cas's chest. 

"Dean..." Cas tried again. But not struggling, not caring.

"No," Dean said, going for commanding and ignoring the quiver in the growl. "This is not how... fuck..." And he gave up talking and crushed his mouth to Cas's.

Cas started, clearly surprised, but his hands moved up and gripped Dean's upper arms, a thumb digging deep into the edge of his own handprint. His mouth opened as Dean's pulled back, but he couldn't-- He couldn't hear the words, whatever they were, whatever objection or denial or disappointment they surely contained and so pressed back in, thrust his tongue into the angel's mouth and demanded feeling. Demanded life.

For a horrible moment he thought that Cas was going to let him ravage him, like he'd let Cas pummel him before. And then Cas shuddered under Dean's hands, a whimpered noise of pain and surrender against Dean's tongue, and he kissed him back.

Dean wouldn't fail at this. It was only one thing, and it meant next to nothing and almost everything, but it was his and he could do it. So he pulled back from Cas's slicked rose lips, his pitch-blown pupils and indigo irises, the mess of his hair, and he dropped to his knees.

Because if anyone deserved his penance, it was Cas. It must be Cas. And Cas must go on. Must fight. Must save. Must _be_. For Sam and for Bobby and for everyone else that Dean had failed.

His fingers fumbled on Cas's belt, then remembered their place and surely slipped leather through metal. Slid metal down metal and cotton over flesh. 

Cas's fingers flew to his hair, the side of his face, urged up and away, but he ignored them. And then he leaned in and took Cas in his mouth, warm and barely more than soft. Cas gasped and the sound was shock, fingers tightening in his hair with a jolting flex.

He worshipped - laved and sucked and tasted, coaxed the soft flesh with his tongue and his lips. And as Cas hardened in his mouth he added his hand around the base, clasped his hands around each other with Cas between in sinful human prayer, on his knees in the dirt in a backlot in Van Nuys.

Cas bucked abortively into Dean's mouth, and he knew the angel was trying not to want. Not to give in. So he sucked harder, tightened his fist and his lips and when he dared look up from the skin of Cas's belly, he found Cas looking down in wonderment. And Cas inhaled a sharp breath and came, sharp and hot against his tongue.

Dean swallowed him down and bathed him clean with the humility of his mouth.

And then he gently tucked Cas back in. He felt Cas watching him, heard his breaths draw in and blow out. He zipped him up and fastened his belt, got to his feet with knees that popped. Kissed Cas, soft, saddened by the hope that he would understand.

"I have to say yes, Cas. I _have_ to. But you have to be...to fight..." 

And Cas nodded, for whatever it was worth. Caressed fingers down the side of Dean's split cheek, and handed him the knife. 

 

_If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you. John 13:14-15._


End file.
